


Like Smoke

by Charshee



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, Clara Oswald - Freeform, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, Some dark doctor, Twelfth Doctor - Freeform, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald - Freeform, Twelve x Clara - Freeform, and SMUT, and adventure, character exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5559026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charshee/pseuds/Charshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The impossible girl has been just out of reach for so long now, he can't help but dig his fingertips in now she's close enough to touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I thought I'd share this here! An unexpected ship for me, but here we are! This'll be a slow burn, but we'll get to the juciy stuff soon, don't you worry! Consider leaving me a review? Enjoy!

Clara woke from a fevered, confused dream that was half grief stricken nightmare, and half burning images of tangled limbs and hoarse whispers. Her dreams had been so strange since Danny died, she'd chase him down dark corridors and past vast expanses of dark and gloomy graveyard, stretching on for as far as the eye could see.

And then there were the moments where she was back in the TARDIS, pressed against the console with something poking in her lower back, and something harder against her inner thigh, and his hot breath on her neck.

The numbers on her alarm-clock glowed a familiar blue in the dark of her room, and a sheen of sweat covered her skin. She kicked the duvet off her legs, twisting her fingers into the sheets beside her. There was an undeniable warmth between her thighs, a tingling rising up her chest and across her breasts until her she could feel her nipples chaffing against the cotton of her shirt. She hadn't been with anyone since Danny, she'd been getting her kicks off adrenalin and copious amounts of flirtation; there had been that night with Jane, but even as they'd kissed she had sensed Clara's sadness, and traded their passionate embrace for a comforting one. Clara needed that, someone who knew when to slow her down, and she'd lost someone who could do that for her when she lost Danny.

Her explorations of herself had been limited as well, she'd spent so much time on the TARDIS chasing adventure that the bottom draw in her bedside table had gone unopened in well over a month. Perhaps that's why she was being haunted by thoughts that she should have been shunning, and not being able to stop herself from loving it.

***

The Doctor was lonely, reclining in the seat beside the TARDIS console, and tapping his fingers against the armrest. He was thinking about Clara, which he had a tendency to do when she wasn't onboard. It was a lot easier to focus when he knew she was there, and safe. He tried to convince himself it was only her safety he was concerned about, but memories kept bubbling up to remind him that he was being far from selfless. They'd spent a lot of time in the late 1700s that past summer, before the solider had died, skipping only years to find that the weather was just as bright and pleasant then, if a little chillier. Clara had donned white lace and silk gowns that Jane had picked out from her own closet. The Doctor had watched them giggle at the pooling of extra material around Clara's feet, as Jane sent for the dresses to be shortened and gave his companion a chaste kiss on her sweet neck. He'd left them, then, retreating to Jane's study and back to the new works she'd asked him to look over. When the lanterns went out he heard the giggles become breathier until the night air was split by a moan. He'd stopped reading then, the words blurred together with whispers and gasps.

Jane had wandered from the bedroom, leaving a sleeping Clara, deep into that impassioned summer night. The Doctor was still sat at her desk, editing her latest novel with such apparent fervour that he appeared not to notice her come in. She knew better, however, by the tremble in his nimble hands.

"I could write it for you, Doctor. What it's like. What she looks like when-"

"No, that's quite alright, thank you." He said, gruffly, and she smirked at the back of his head, his silver hair ruffled by the number of times he'd run his hands through it, listening to them through the wall. It was always the storytellers that could read him like a book, see that part of himself he wished so badly to keep hidden away. He had waited until the swish of skirts told him she'd returned to her warm bed before burying his face in his hands, enough of this, he thought he'd have outgrown it, this regeneration.

***

The companion had been trying her hardest to force herself back into sleep for the past half an hour to no avail. She tightened her grip on the sheets and twisted in her bed, rubbing her thighs together as desire burned her insides and made her groan out loud into the darkness. Each time she tried touching herself it conjured up images of Danny that weren't the ones she'd been looking for, the last time they made love, their last kiss, the last moments they shared with him a corpse in a metal suit of armour. Their love making, however fantastic at the time, now hurt to remember.

Then there were the thoughts she tried desperately to suppress, because they made her want to curl up and die of embarrassment should he ever find out. Her best friend wasn't like her, human and hormone-driven , he wouldn't be transformed from the frantic, fantastic, and untouchable man he was just because a pretty face sent a needy glance his way. And still she imagined him pressing himself against her, a shiver making its way down her back as he pulled her hair aside and his breath hit her neck. She gave in slightly to the desperation between her thighs, pressing her palm against the cotton of her panties and biting her lip at the pleasure, however limited.

***

A few thousand years in the past the Doctor was trying to push the perky teacher from his thoughts, at least long enough to catch some much needed rest. It was hopeless, he could smell her on the blanket he had pulled over himself, and his selfishness won as it always did. He flipped a few switches and spun some dials, the TARDIS made a tutting sort of sound as the lights of the console began to pulse and they began the familiar journey forwards through time and into the living room of her little flat.


	2. Chapter 2

Clara had no complaints when it came to Danny's stylings in bed. He was military in his movements, precise when he lifted her effortlessly onto the dining room table and pushed himself into her until she shook. He could've been trained in fucking her, following a mission plan as he lifted her off the table and thrust himself into her until her eyes watered and she was sure if she came any harder she may pass out. They hadn't had long enough to enjoy one another, something she was deeply embittered about. She had planned to play after hours in the classroom one evening, though she hadn't so much as decided who would be teacher and who would be student before he was gone. It wasn't enough time, she was left with the bright spark of new love and the broken promise of what could of been. She'd never seen herself as the marrying kind, but with Danny she could look into the future, without the Doctor's help, and see them together. They would find a town house with a garden, near the park, and take their brown-eyed babies for walks there at least twice a week. It wasn't the life of thrills and adventure she could see now, but it would make Danny so happy. Now all she could see was the Doctor, the only other man in her life, stretching on until she was bed bound, a bed she would insist was aboard the TARDIS. The Doctor would hate to watch her leave him like that, but in this case she'd insist he put her first, and let her live that life to the very last.

She was the sort to consider people, anyone who caught her eye she couldn't help but mentally strip down and imagine their methodology. She'd imagined getting intimate with the Doctor, when he was young and flapped his hands around wildly; she'd imagined giving him something to do with those hands more than once. He was a new man now, her friend of the past was dead in a way, and though that hurt her she loved this new man too. Strange, that the disappearance of his youth, the manifestation of lines on his face, would only stoke the fire she kept for the Doctor. They revealed the chaos of his life, all the people he'd lost, all the civilisations he'd saved, there for her to read. This face couldn't lie to her, this face and this man would give her the universe if he could, and he could, so he did. He moved like a young man, he strutted and danced like he had as a younger self, but he marched and imposed like a man disillusioned to the state of the universe, all grown up. She'd imagined flustered kisses from her bowtie wearing sweetheart, this man's methods she'd yet to pin down, despite her speculations.

The moment she heard the beautiful, familiar noise her hand shot out from beneath the blankets to lie stiffly beside her, like a child caught with their hand in the chocolate-tin. She couldn't let him know she'd had trouble sleeping, more often than not when his visits happened in the middle of the night he had to wake her from a dead sleep, and she certainly wasn't going to be caught touching herself. Clara squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to resume a more relaxed position, and even out her breathing.

***

The Doctor stepped out into the dark room and smack into the sharp corner of the coffee table. He yelped as quietly as he could, and turned around to glare at the TARDIS, which has materialised a meter or so further forwards in the little room than she typically did. She flickered her lights at him, innocently, but he knew what her disapproval looked like. He waved a hand at her, and started towards Clara's room, ready to shake her awake and suggest a quick trip to the warring factions of the tribes of Izado who mainly fought by attempting to be more hospitable towards visitors than their enemies. The door was cracked, and he could feel something in the air like static. He took a deep breath, and was hit with a sudden ton of humanity. The first thing he thought he recognised was Clara's fear, and he went to burst through the door to her rescue, when he realised the room was also leaking heady human pheromones, and he remembered one of the hazards of being with humans.

Humanity was a drug all over the universe, there were once factories pumping out fresh product from human slaves for all the nastiest drug dens in the cosmos. That was during The Dark Age, the big one, in the 57th century. The factories had been brought down when a batch of tainted product went out, human rage and grief poisoned the junkies and while the factories owner, a large and terrible beast with tusks like a warthog, and his thugs were busy with his enraged clientele, the humans being farmed for their feelings had mysteriously vanished completely. Though there were rumours, of course, that the compound had been brought down from the inside by a stranger in a very long coat, who vanished along with the humans after the ruined product went out.

This was the kind of high the monsters payed top dollar for, the potent cocktail of desire and physical desperation hit him harder than any earthly drug could. The Time Lord's human companions were always giving off the scent of excitement or fear on their travels, and he appreciated that as a helpful boost to his own sense of adventure. This, however, was the part of humanity that made him worry. He wasn't above temptation, far from it, and he wasn't oblivious to the fact that his brilliant, brave companions also had beauty in common. He missed intimacy, he missed the chance to forget the disruption of the universe around him, and the corruption of his hearts. Clara's soft skin and dark eyes weren't lost on him, and he hated every wicked thought that had begun to form in his mind about his dearest friend.

She must have someone here, a someone sort of someone. He was filled with jealousy so suddenly he didn't recognise the feeling before it took him over. Perhaps if he were a little less emotional and a little more rational he'd have realised it was only Clara he could detect. As it was he rapped sharply on the door and said,

"I'll be in the livingroom" through the cracked door.

Clara couldn't help but think he sounded like a cross parent who'd just discovered a poor report card she'd stuffed in the outside bin, disappointed and a little betrayed. She shot up in bed suddenly terrified he some how knew what she'd been up to, and was judging her for it. She felt a little flushed, but her frustration provided a sudden rush of indignation, and she left the room ready to defend her actions as a part of humanity he should be more than aware of by now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A short instalment this time, the next should be up very soon! Time for the story to really begin!

"Who are they?" He was trying to sound casual, she could see that in the stiff way he was leaning on the couch cushions and the way he wouldn't look at her. She frowned, genuinely confused,

"Who is who?"

"Whoever you've got in there." The Doctor motioned towards the bedroom door and pulled a face.

Clara felt a grin creep across her face, and when he met her eyes at last he leapt up and towards her,

"What-what are you looking like that for?" His accent was thicker when he was annoyed, and she hid a giggle behind her hand.

"I haven't got anyone in there."

"Oh..." His jealousy driven irritation was snuffed out as suddenly as it had been sparked, and he suddenly felt quite awkward.

"Wait a minute, why'd you think I had someone here?"

"No reason," he tried his best to smooth it over, act as if it had never happened, but he was still woozy from her scent and he'd just noticed how the pale light filtering through the window was playing on her bare skin. "You should put something on, more, you know, more."

This was unusual for him, verbalising his opinions on her state of dress. She was suddenly very aware of herself, and folded her arms across her chest. Not before the Time Lord stole a glance at the soft rise of her breasts above her camisole; when she turned back to her bedroom and called back at him to put the kettle on while she changed, he swallowed hard, sure one of his hearts had jumped up to lodge itself somewhere in his throat.

He pushed through the TARDIS doors, wondering when the effects of her pheromones would wear off and he'd be able to concentrate on less primal instincts. He made his way to the kitchen, the kettle was already whistling and rattling on the stove top, and he nodded at the TARDIS's apology appreciatively. He needed an adventure, he needed a puzzle to solve. Spend too long around humans and you start to pick up on their habits, their faces remind you of home, but their bodies remind you of youth. Back when he was an adolescent, only a century or so old, and he'd not yet reached the point of mental clarity that his people strove for, he'd fallen victim to desire enough to know that he revelled in that form of self indulgence as much as he did every other.

He envied humans their indulgences. When humans gave in to their desires they risked breaking hearts, not shattering whole realities.

***

"So, where are we going?" She skipped into the kitchen, which had gone for a chic, modernised look that morning.

"I thought we'd take a trip to Izado, a few galaxies over and a hop across a century or two." He handed her a steaming mug, and she smiled when she realised he'd gone out of the way to make it for her, when he hadn't wanted a cup himself. Those eyebrows couldn't fool her, her two-hearted hero was as soft as ever. She followed him back to the control room, blowing on her tea softly to cool it faster.

"What's on Izado?"

"Last time I checked: a war." He was already dancing around the console, flipping switches and spinning dials as he went.

"A war? Are we going to help?"

"We're going to be helped." He said mysteriously, and winked at her. She grinned, eager for the surprises to come.

The Doctor dared to take a proper breath for the first time since she'd walked into the kitchen, and was relieved to find her arousal had faded from the air around her, at least to a point that he could bear to be close to her without the confusion carried on human pheromones. He had a hard enough time protecting her from the rest of the universe, he doesn't want to have to start protecting her from himself, he doesn't want to give her up yet.

All the same, as he brushed past her he paused, so briefly that she wondered if it had actually happened or if she'd simply wished it, and cupped her face in his cool hands, his thumbs brushing the edge of he lips. Their eyes met and he seemed to be searching for something, she suddenly felt sure that all the harmless little fantasies she'd been carrying along with this loneliness were playing across her face like they were being projected onto a theatre screen. Clara dropped her eyes from his, and he broke contact, spinning towards the door as if it had never happened. Following his lead, as she was prone to do, she didn't say a word about it and skipped after him, matching his excited energy. The Doctor stopped at the door and grinned at her, clapping his hands together,

"Get ready for feasts, festivities, and luxury!" He said, and swung the doors open. No sooner had they stepped outside that they were grabbed by hands too large and bumpy to be human and slammed against a cold stone wall, The Doctor barely had time to pull the door of the TARDIS closed behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

"Uh, Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Is this your idea of luxury?" Clara wriggled a little in the medieval style stocks, her wrists were sore, but bent over as she was her back was beginning to get sorer still.

"Well, I suppose they're quite nice stocks." He said, not nearly sheepishly enough for her liking.

"Doctor! They are not nice stocks! What's going on? What are those horrid things?"

"Well, I think they're raiders. I seem to have skipped a few more years forwards than I intended to. It looks like the original inhabitants have left, and the raiders are taking advantage of the abandoned war zone. By the looks of it, we're either going to be murdered and robbed or on the next cargo ship out to the nearest trading station."

"Murdered or cargo ship?!" She hissed, under her breath, as there was still a large and misshapen beast the colour of a mashed bananas guarding the entrance to the alley, which lead from the courtyard in which the TARDIS stood to where they were trapped in the stocks.

"They'll take the TARDIS, they'll have scanned it by now and know it's valuable, we've got to convince them we are too, we can get back to the TARDIS at the trading post."

"How do we do that? Convince them we're valuable?" She asked, turning sideways to meet his eyes the best she could.

"Well, I'll say something incredibly clever, and you do something humany. That thing with your face that people seem to like."

"What thing with my face?"

"You know, the thing that makes people go all swoony that got us out of that business in Versailles."

"You mean smile?"

"Yeah and flip your hair about a bit, they'll bring us to the captain in a bit to be evaluated, don't fight and they won't hurt you; they don't want to deal in damaged goods."

"Goods?!" Clara felt a sinking in her stomach, and the Doctor could smell the fear coming off her skin.

***

"What value can this one have, he's too old for labour." The captain of the raider ship was at least two meters wide, and twice Clara's height.

"Oi! I've got a good 50 years between now and the next wrinkle!" The Doctor straightened his collar.

"You were not given permission to speak!" The guard that had lead them into the ship in chains snapped, snarling at the Doctor like a rabid beast.

"Calm down there, I'm only saying hello." The Time Lord stepped towards the Captain, "I know of the location of three different salvages that will each out do every haul you've ever had, within only seven star systems of here. I know you can monitor my heart rates with those bio-scanners, so you can check if I'm lying to you, spare my life and I'll give you the coordinates."

"I can spot a lie without scans," the captain snorted. He had tusks protruding from the side of his massive, prize winning pumpkin sized skull, framing a grim and frightening face. "Keep this one," he nodded at the Doctor and he was pulled roughly off the platform before the makeshift throne and into the pen they'd rigged up beside their ship.

Clara stumbled up the stairs and into the platform, to the jeers and whoops of the raider crew.

"A human female, what are you doing all the way out here?" The captain stood, and Clara gulped as he towered over her, the stench coming off him was like rotting fish and she wanted to gag. "Your lot usually know better than to traverse the Silent Space. You'll fetch a good price, there's always someone looking to buy a human," his brought his terrible face closer, and the breath from his wide mouth made her feel ill, "particularly such a pretty little thing like you. I may keep you for myself, if no one offers enough." The creature brought a three fingered dustbin lid of a hand down on her backside and squeezed, she yelped and started forwards, and he and the rest of the raiders cackled as she was dragged to the pen.

The Doctor was gripping the bars so hard his knuckles were white as he watched the proceedings, and the moment she was in the pen along side him he pulled her into the corner and positioned himself before her, hiding her from view should any of the crew get any ideas as they evaluated the rest of their plunder. Two lost looking Valrien merchants and a small, huddled pack of Lupis Rats (popular for their colour changing fur) were penned up like themselves with the various chests of finery that had been abandoned when the Izadoian factions had apparently left.

"Did he hurt you?" The Doctor said, concern written all over his face and fury pulsing in his jaw.

"Just my pride, and sense of humanity." Clara said sarkily, her eyes wide and shining with the fear she refused to voice.

"I'll get us out of this, Clara, I promise."

They watched the TARDIS be loaded onto the ship, along with the statues the alien traffickers had raided from the Izadoian ruins. The guards approached the pen, chains and manacles ready for their prisoners. Clara felt her heart start to pound, fear was making her breath shallow and her skin prickle with goosebumps. The Doctor turned to his companion, and slipped his hand into hers,

"Trust me, Clara, I'll keep you safe."


	5. Chapter 5

  
The cells were cold and cramped, and they'd been given only water that tasted strange to keep them going for the flight. The Doctor had at least insured they were locked up together by shooting a withering glare at the guard and sticking to his frightened companion like velcro.

Clara was sat on the narrow cot, it's meagre covering of a scratchy blanket of some sort of wool-like material was wrapped around her shoulders, but she was shaking all the same. The Doctor leant against the opposite wall, staring at the ceiling as he considered their situation. The TARDIS was frustratingly close, he had watched it be stashed away just around the corner from the full cells.

His screwdriver had been taken from him and stashed in the captains own pocket, much to the Doctor's annoyance. Clara was holding her composure as ever, though these were the moments of their adventures she disliked the most: the waiting.

She preferred having a knife to her throat or a monster at her heels, sitting here like a creature in a zoo made her feel sick. She wasn't dressed for this, and the beast's heavy hand had left her sore. She lay down on her side, the cot creaked, and she met the Doctor's eyes.

"You're cold." He told her, and she nodded at him with a wane smile. Clara was shocked when he made his way over to her, and motioned for her to make room on the cot. She was frozen as he lay down behind her, unable to breathe when she felt his chest against her back. He wrapped his arm around her and she was surprised at how warm he was, and how safe she felt curled up against him. Not that that helped her relax, he seemed to take her stillness as a reaction to the cold rather than his proximity, and began rubbing her upper arm vigorously.

"Doctor." She finally squeaked out,

"Uh.. Yes?" He said, pausing in his movements.

"What are you doing?"

"War-warming you up?" The alien was suddenly uncertain of his understanding of human social interactions. It had felt so natural to pull her close like this, to share what he could for her comfort. His companions' wide eyes tended to drive him to act without thinking, something he seemed to be getting worse and worse at controlling as the years went on. "Would you like me to stop?"

"No...Thanks-thank you." He must have felt her heart pounding, she was having flashbacks to her strange dreams, to the fantasises wrapped up in them. All of a sudden she found herself hoping that a Time Lord's telepathic capabilities only worked when you let them in.

The top of her head smelt like tea-tree and anxiety, and he closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from enjoying her proximity. It was when the aroma of her desire hit him that he realised what he hadn't yet considered. All that need bubbling away, he'd been struck by the intensity of her feelings when he'd run into them in her flat, he should've taken into account that they wouldn't have simply evaporated since then. If he felt ashamed for stirring her humanity up, what was stirring below his belt in reaction to her palpable desire actually made him blush.

Clara couldn't quite believe what was happening, she was sure she'd wake up in her own bed any moment. Something that was most assuredly not a sonic screwdriver was pressed against her backside, despite the fact it was her stoic, steady Doctor beside her. It wasn't helping her block out the images or the loneliness, but she couldn't help who she was nor the fire that was glowing inside her, so she shifted herself against him a little to gage his reaction. She wanted to giggle at how surreal it was when she felt _it_ jump slightly against her flesh.

His hands were sweating like a school boy's, and the Time Lord was sure he'd never felt more human than this, never understood them better. Sure, they weren't all Clara Oswald, but he understood the need to lose oneself in another. This closeness was electrified, even as they lay still he could feel the potential of their friction already crackling between them. If she said something about his body's betrayal he thought he may be more embarrassed than any living thing had ever been. He knew she knew, her wriggling about had come across as a victory display: _"ha, gotcha, knew it."_ And all the Doctor could do now was hope and pray that he would spare him the trauma of having to discuss it out loud. He didn't want to admit her effect on him, and he certainly didn't want to tell her just how tell-tale human pheromones could be. These human girls, all brave hearts and breakable bodies, they'd be the end of him.

Clara remained mercifully silent, enjoying her ability to beguile, but unable to confess the need she was feeling herself. It took her a good 45 minutes to fall into a fitful sleep, though she was grateful for his warmth in the drafty cells. The Doctor didn't sleep a wink, he didn't trust himself not to creep a hand where he shouldn't if he let his mind wander.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this little instalment! Leave me a comment and let me know what you think?


	6. Chapter 6

"Up! Up!" The guard hollered, smashing a club-like appendage against the bars. The two of them disentangled themselves from one another and jumped off the cot and into more defendable positions. The door clanked open, and the Doctor positioned himself firmly in front of her, and she had to stand on tip toe to see over his shoulder.

"Hands." The guard, a tall and lanky beast with lumpy rust coloured skin and patches that looked like tree bark, demanded, holding out two pair of shackles linked together by a heavy chain. The Doctor met his companion's eyes and gave her a tiny nod, and the two held their hands out to be shackled. The guard led them out into the corridor lined with the cells of their fellow unfortunates. There were a pair of young women wearing what could've been spiders webs it was so fine emerging from a few cells down, they were so beautiful and so human that Clara blinked at them as though she'd caught a face full of bright sunlight. The reptilian faced alien with four clattering, insect-like legs that lead them lashed out suddenly with a long, sticky, tongue-like appendage from under what Clara assumed was it's chin. In a flash one of the beautiful women's delicate garment fell to the floor in floating tatters, and she span to face the beast, covering her bare flesh with her arms. Her face was no longer serene and beautiful, her eyes were dark orbs and her mouth was suddenly impossibly wide, she was snarling through at least three rows of needle sharp teeth. The insect type thing took another shot at her, and slapped her across the face. Clara started forwards automatically at the cruelty, but the Doctor tugged at the chain connecting them and shook his head in warning.

The dark woman's friend helped her up, shooting a dangerous glare at the guard, and rubbed her dainty hands together. From between them she produced sparkling silk like materiel, which she wove and spun in moments into a suitable covering for her companion. Clara watched the aliens, transfixed, even as her own guard gave her a prod in the back to keep moving.

"Daughters of the Woven Fates, less popular on the trading posts than you'd think, their bite is a lot worse than their bark." The Doctor whispered to her as they were lead back through the ship, towards the entrance they'd been taken through the night before. The captain was stood beside it, eyeing each prisoner as they were led out the door and into the warm and heavy night air.

If they'd been here of their own free will and she weren't aware of its status as a slave trade hotspot, Clara would think this place was beautiful. The buildings were flat and square, their walls a dusty, sandy sort of colour. Between each rooftop stretched long, colourful expanses of colourful cloth and tapestries, the effect was a canopy of rich, vibrant hues, covering the cobblestone streets. When she looked up the companion could see slivers of the inky black sky between the material, filled with more stars than she thought just one planet's sky could contain.

Their way was lit by paraffin lamps and paper lanterns that had been hung beneath the tapestries, from above the streets glowed like strange rivers from a dream. When the train of prisoners was lead into the circular plaza serving as a market place Clara's eyes grew wide as dinner plates, there were at least a hundred little fascinating stalls tended by all sorts of creatures peddling their wares, dotted about the ancient looking plaza. Her gaze was caught by a nearby stall surrounded by perches, covered with kinds of birds she'd never seen before, particularly unusual were the ones with three heads. Quite suddenly a large, solemn looking beast with shimmering sunset plumage burst into a bright ball of flame, crackling with red, silver, and violet. The teacher jumped, and despite the situation the Doctor turned and smiled when he saw her reaction, seeing the universe through their eyes made it all feel new again.

They were lead to stand beside a platform near the centre of the scattering of stalls and told to keep quiet and still if they didn't to be shot on the spot. The Tardis had been placed the other side of the platform, along with a couple of hover-scooters and chests full of Izadoian treasures. The captain had settled himself in a chair, provided by one of his thugs, in front of the row of shackled hostages. Clara spotted a familiar glint of green poking out of his pocket, and she nudged the Doctor with her pointy little elbow and nodded at the captain's back. The Time Lord caught sight of his precious screwdriver in the pirate's pocket, and began trying to remember the voice activation for shackles. He whispered the code, reaching out to the device with his mind, and heard a gratifying click, but when he tried to pull his hands free the cuffs held fast. Clara, however, was stretching her wrist out gratefully now the pressure had been lessened.

"I can get the screwdriver."

"No, it's dangerous."

"I can get the screwdriver and we can make a run for the TARDIS." She looked, to his great concern, excited. And yet he couldn't help but trust his thrill seeking companion, and after a few moments of consideration, he nodded.

"Don't you dare get yourself killed, you grab it fast as you can, get me out of these chains, and we get back to the TARDIS together."

Clara nodded, chewing on her bottom lip as she considered the short distance between her and the captain, and the way the screwdriver was hanging from his pocket. Their fellow prisoners were hanging their heads, alien eyes turned to the stone ground rather than the endless sky as they waited to be sold like cattle. She couldn't allow this, she couldn't just run away because it meant staying safe herself, she knew what she risked every time she ran away with him. With one last meeting of eyes between them, she slipped her chains and dashed forwards, her little hand pulling the device neatly from his pocket and darting back towards the Doctor, pointing the screwdriver at his shackles as she ran. The captain turned to face them, throwing his chair aside and snarling for his crew to restrain the escapees. The Doctor dropped his cuffs, ready to grab his human's hand and run like mad towards his home, but she'd kept on going straight past him and further away from their only way to safety, brandishing the sonic at each pair of manacles in the long line of captives as she went.

The Gallifreyan groaned at his emotion-driven anchor and her beautiful, frustrating tendency to put the safety of others before her own before breaking out into a run, following close behind her and shouting at the newly freed hostages to make a break for it, split up and confuse the pirates as they chased after their fleeing haul.


	7. Chapter 7

The English teacher reached the end of the line where the two Daughters of the Woven Fates stood, holding their arms out in preparation to be freed. The taller of the two met her eyes and shot her a grin of thanks, even as she watched the beautiful face twisted into something frightful, and the woman turned to pounce on the guard who had slapped her in the ship, the sound of flesh being torn from bone by those rows of terrible teeth was unmistakable, however alien he was.

The Doctor reached his companion, and grabbed her hand with his, while he held the other out for the screwdriver which she tossed to him. They began the sprint back towards the platform and the TARDIS, dodging past fleeing victims and those taking on the oversized, intergalactic thugs. The hostages refused to relinquish their freedom now they'd got it, and the Pirates certainly had their hands full; the TARDIS was getting closer and closer, she was almost to the door when an arm as thick as a tree trunk swung out in front of her and snatched her away from the blue doors.

The captain held the squirming human high above the ground, whooping triumphantly at his prize.

"You'll regret this little stunt," he grunted at her, putting his mouth to her ear and threatening with nauseatingly hot, wet breath, "I'll make you regret this for the rest of your very short life, physical incompatibilities be damned." Clara felt her stomach drop, sure she'd suddenly had all her blood replaced with liquid nitrogen.

Her fear was interrupted, however, when a mad man on a hover scooter rammed into the back of the captains legs at full speed, and she fell to the street with a thump. Clara grabbed the hand that was offered to her, and he swung her up onto the scooter with surprising strength. With a click of his fingers, the TARDIS doors swing wide open, and in they zoomed through on the scooter. The Doctor turned sharply, and they both tumbled off onto the floor, laughing as the doors swung shut behind them.

***

Clara was browsing the books in the cozy little library, planning to read by the fire as her hair dried. She didn't hear him come in, starting a little when she turned to find him leaning against the bookcase, staring at her.

"How are you?" He asked, "have you slept?"

"I'm alright, I just needed something to eat," she nodded at her empty plate on the coffee table, beside the crackling stone fireplace, "and a shower."

"You should get some sleep, you didn't sleep well on that ship-" he paused realising he'd stumbled into the subject of their slightly intimate, if short, night in bed together.

"And how would you know that, Doctor?" The vixen rose her eyebrows at him, "watching me, were you?"

The Time Lord struggled with talking his way out of trouble when someone noticed that he wasn't quite as passionless as he pretended to be. It being Clara who's X-ray eyes were upon him, smirking like she'd already analysed the scan of his insides and knew all about his desire and his darkness, only served to make him all the more certain he couldn't bullshit his way through. He opted for charm, instead,

"You're hard not to watch."

Clara was a little surprised at the boldness of his statement, and the low tone to his voice. If she didn't know any better, she'd say the Doctor was wooing her.

"Did you need something?" She asked, keeping her tone light and casual, testing the waters after their close encounter the night before.

"I wanted to know if you were okay. You hit the pavement pretty hard in the market place."

"Minor bruising, but I'll live."

"Can I see?" He held the sonic up, and she recalled that he had a setting that did something to bruises, sped through the healing process or some such thing. She went a little pink in the cheeks, but the opportunity to make her best friend blush was too good to miss,

"Well, they're mostly on my backside, but you're welcome to, if you'd like." She turned her back to him, and grinned over her shoulder like an imp. The last thing she expected was him to step forward and stand close behind her, looking down into her eyes and the smile on her face transforming into a stunned expression. His fingertips brushed against the skin just below where her skirt hit the back of her thighs. It was the slightest hint of contact, but it sent tingles running across her body in waves that made her feel a little faint. The Doctor lifted the short garment slightly further up her thigh, and touched his fingers to the warm skin there. Her intake of air made him smirk a little, which he hid a quickly as it happened; he hadn't forgotten this after all.

"Does it hurt there?" He said, softly.

"I-I-no." She whispered up at him, sure she'd seen him look a little smug at her gasp at such a minor touch. Clara was unable to meet his eyes any longer, he could read too much on her face, so she turned her head away from him and shut her eyes, biting down on her bottom lip hard.

"Here?" His fingertips were dangerously close to her backside, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to control a situation like this with the Doctor. Clara Oswald prided herself on being more than able to handle any man and and his ego, but the Doctor surprised her at every turn. She'd gotten a little bored of human men, until Danny. They couldn't shake her up like her Doctor could, and sometimes the control freak needed to loosen her grip on everything a little, and trust that he wouldn't let it fall apart.

"Hmm..." She murmured, it wasn't an answer, but he didn't push her further. The companion had to admit that his touch was causing desire to criss cross its way down her spine and across her skin. It burned so hot it took her a moment to register the heat, and by then it was too late, and the flames had claimed her.

Clara was revelling in the intensity of the passion her life had been so lacking as of late when his featherlight touch was interrupted by the whining of the sonic. She wondered if he'd let his thoughts wander when choosing the bruising setting on the device, because it was giving her goosebumps in a way it just hadn't when she'd had him fix the nasty, tae kwan do related, purpling of her upper arm a few weeks back. His fingers traced across her thigh, then moved to give her other leg the same soft treatment, the sonic following his fingers and fixing the broken blood vessels twisting together like streams and rivers beneath her skin.

The Time Lord didn't need his acute senses to know he was having an effect on her, and he was rather worried by how much of an effect she was having on him. He could practically see the lust exploding in deep violet sparks of energy around her, an ache had begun somewhere within, and he couldn't tell if it were hers or his own. The Doctor didn't trust himself to keep his hands on her any longer and not give in to either of carnal cravings.

So he took his touch away as quickly as he'd offered it, leaving her weak in the knees and turning towards him, in a slight panic, to see why he had stopped. He took a step backwards towards the door, and said as if he had no idea what he'd just done, as if to say: _"ha, gotcha, knew it..."_

"Get some sleep, the TARDIS has designed you a whole new bedroom just down the end of the corridor, to the left."

Clara watched him leave in silence, momentarily stupefied by what was either his boldness or his idiocy. She decided all at once that it was both, and that if he could play it cool so could she. Two could play at this game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! I said we'd get to the juicy stuff soon, didn't I? It's all to come! Let me know what you think so far? Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

If he knew what he'd done to her he didn't show it, his manner was as easy and familiar as ever. Perhaps when he danced past her around the console his hand was a little lower on her back, a hairs breadth from where the rise of her backside began.

They'd had plenty of distractions to keep them from confronting the tension that was growing between them. In between dodging laser blasts and stone topped spears they didn't have a lot of time to chat about the oh so human moment they'd shared in the Library, which he was trying desperately to pretend had never happened. He couldn't believe he's allowed himself to slip that far out of control, knowing the consequences as he did.

Still, she looked beautiful like this. The steam from the broken boiler had turned the hair escaping her ponytail to ringlets, her skin shone in the hot, damp air.

"Twist that to the left and hold it steady if it resists!" He pointed to a pipe nearest to her, and she reached her free arm out and turned hard. The metal was rough and rusty under her fingers, and it was tougher than she'd anticipated. She gasps with the effort, the muscles on her other arm are screaming as they work to hold a leaver steady. The added strain may be too much, she's not sure she can manage this. As if he's read her mind the Doctor reassures her "hold tight, Clara. A few seconds more, hold on, or this ship is going up with all those people on board."

She narrows her dark eyes at him, but it's enough to set her jaw and hold her to her task. He dashes behind the boiler, screwdriver pulsing, and crosses his fingers. The resistance of the leaver lessens, and finally Clara is able to release both of her clenched hands without risking the boiler exploding.

With a few final creaks the rusty old system returns to typical, subpar operation. They're on some sort of jungle planet, on a steamer currently chugging it's way up a river that made the Amazon look like a picnic. They had barely got a breath of thick wet air in before the deck started to shudder and lurch, and the Doctor grabbed her hand and pulled her down bellow decks and towards the boiler room.

"They'll never know how close it was." Clara mused, after they've hopped back into the TARDIS and flipped the switches to send them shooting off into deep space, kicking her shoes off and watching them fall from the side of the console platform, the TARDIS floor revealed a sliding trap door, and the heels were swallowed up by darkness. Clara was sure to find them sitting in the wardrobe of her TARDIS bedroom the next morning. "The end, I mean."

"That's a bit gloomy," he said, wandering around the bookcases in search of his to-do list (which Clara had insisted he start to keep, just for the really important stuff).

"There, check, favour done."

"Who sent that request, anyway?"

"A slightly psychic relative of one of the crew must seems to have had a prophetic nightmare powerful enough to have caught the TARDIS's attention. That happens more than you'd think, you know. And it always seems to be the aunts. Does everyone have a slightly psychic aunt? The TARDIS locked onto the grief like coordinates and in we swoop, stopping it from ever coming to pass. This is why I try to avoid flying too close to a planet when I'm giving the Telepathic sweepers a good retuning, they're so noisy, and she can't resist."

"That was mostly nonsense, wasn't it?" Clara said.

"Yup." He replied.

"You love rescuing people thanks to their slightly psychic aunts. _You_ can't resist."

The Doctor pretends not to hear her, but the console lights pulse as if the machine is laughing, it's not the first time he's blamed his breaking the laws of time on his box.

Clara goes to stand, pushing herself up from the ground and yelping suddenly. She drops back down heavily, frowning at her palm. A dirty scrape interrupts her rust-streaked skin. She didn't hear him come over, he's suddenly sitting himself beside her, his long legs dangling off the platform beside hers. He's brandishing a hot, wet cloth, and holds his hand out invitingly.

Clara smiles warmly and offers him her wounded hand, but when he presses the cloth to it a sting burns through her skin. She tried to snatch her hand back, but he held it fast.

"Sorry, disinfectant," he says, "don't want you getting sick."

They watch the red of her blood run through the fibres of the white gauze, and he sighed, casting blue eyes up from their clasped hands to meet her gaze.

"Humans, so fragile, how do manage? Always getting cut or burned or bruised-" he stops, she's sure she sees him smirk slightly, "how's the bruising, from that nasty pirate business a week or so back?"

"Just fine, almost gone." Clara replies, the sting is fading, and he wipes the raw cut clean. He surprises her when he leans closer and blows on it gently and, to her amazement, a dusting of gold is carried by his breath, spiralling down onto her skin. The tender flesh began to itch as it stitched back together before her eyes.

"Ohh" she sighed in awe, "how'd you do that?"

"I'm bursting with extra regeneration energy since, well, you know. That only cost me about five minutes of this life, humans heal so quickly as it is."

The cut that was once quite deep is now a thin pink line, she wiggles her fingers, folds and unfolds her palm, the skin is tight and new, but painless.

"You didn't have to do that, it didn't hurt that badly."

"What use is an English teacher without her writing hand?" He places his hand over her newly healed one and presses their palms together.

They sit like that for a moment, smiling at one another like they have a secret, though neither is brave enough to voice it yet.

"Doctor..." She breathes, and he allows himself to cup her soft cheek in his palm, to feel her warmth and appreciate her sweet face without safeguarding his expression for a moment. For a split second she's sure he's going to kiss her, but instead he clambers to his feet and skips around the console. If he wasn't careful, he was going to make the mistake of crossing a line neither of them would be able to find their way back over.

She sighs, unsure if they'll ever be able to face the fact of what is between them. She doesn't see him watching her from behind the console, doesn't see his gaze fixed on her face, the way she moves, the sway of her hair as it catches the light. She can't know how badly he wishes to reach out and touch her, she's slipping through his fingers all the time, moving further and further away from him, and still he can't reach out and touch.


	9. Chapter 9

Touch is a simple thing, isn't it? Flesh on flesh, skin on skin. And yet, even when you're pressed flush together, there's that wretched space between your very atoms, that imperceivable micro-space buzzing with the sensation of contact. He could puzzle out so much, he could calculate any equation, how can he have so much knowledge and still have no clue how to reach out and simply touch her? 

 

His hands found easy, innocent homes on her hands, and the occasional lingering brush against her cheek. His fingertips were still burning with their contact on the soft skin of her thighs days ago, and he couldn't help but revel in the heat she'd left him with. 

 

He'd been fiddling with the screen, doing his best to finally fix the connection, but the thought of her was dancing around his head, he could practically hear the click of her heels on the metal floor. She slept just down the corridor, seconds away from him, and it wasn't near enough. If he didn't find something to distract himself, he might break completely and go climb into bed beside her. He's not sure if he'd be welcomed, but he fears it more than the alternative. Rejection is easy, rejection can only hurt you if you let it, but to be accepted like that would mean facing another kind of heartbreak when she finally vanished from his side that he wasn't sure he could survive. 

 

He took the long way round to his bedroom, to avoid passing her door. The TARDIS had enjoyed the velvet of his new wardrobe, and draped it all over the grand four poster that served as his bed, tied up with silken ropes. He'd tutted at her, but he rather enjoyed the unnecessary grandeur, this form was fond of beauty, he saw it a little clearer with this face. It was one of the many, if the shallowest, benefits of having his Clara around. He was contemplating the curvature of her lips, the delicacy of her slender wrists, and cursing himself for the thoughts even as they came to him. 

 

He scavenged the room for a distraction, and sighed in relief when the smallest draw in his writing desk revealed the remaining sleep patches he'd confiscated from Clara. If he tucked himself up and slapped one on he'd have drifted off before he could give in to temptation, or distraction. The lights dimmed as he stripped off to his boxers, and pulled the white t-shirt the TARDIS had left on his bed for him over his head. There was a pitcher of fresh, cold water on his dresser and he thought a thank you at the box. She pulsed the lights softly at him in response as he poured himself a glass, grabbed a sleep patch out of the packet, and climbed into the high bed, pulling the duvet back. The cool cotton of the sheets was a welcome sensation, it was already helping to quiet his mind. 

 

He pressed the patch onto the side of his throat, and the lights dimmed dramatically. He shut his eyes and took a breath, remembering those eyes, wide with grief and steely determination. Thinking of her at a time like this probably wasn't a good idea, that determination in her gaze fanned the flames he held for her, the one that kept consuming his hearts. 

 

He felt like he was spinning, the bed swayed beneath him like a ship lurching through stormy waters. He thought about her eyes, all the things they told him, he thought about what they'd told him in that library. 

 

He wasn't totally oblivious, he'd learned that expression, he'd written down what those fluttering eyelids and parted lips, as if there were words about to spill from them, meant. She did it around the solider, and Jane, and a particularly symmetrical bounty hunter they'd run into when they found themselves on the trail of the same cosmic criminal a few months back. It locked those people in, from a purely scientific standpoint it was fascinating to watch her catch someone in her beam, but to be on the receiving end of it had him woozy and unfocused. 

 

The image of her was vivid, his own imagination and the powerful intoxication driving it, if he reached out into the dark he could almost feel her in front of him, silky hair and soft skin. He reaches for her, wraps his hands around her upper arms, runs then up over the rough wool of her jumper and over her shoulders. His hands find the sides of her slender neck, his thumbs trace her jawline. She was so real, he could almost feel the warmth radiating off her. Her eyes are doing that inflating thing, he leans in to get a better look at them, and feels her breath against his face. She's temptation, she's distraction, she's relief from all the harsh and the wild he faces. She puckers her lips slightly, eye lids lowering slowly, and it's suddenly too much to resist. 

 

Even in his own head he's consumed by guilt as he feels their lips collide. It's incredibly real, and yet not enough to sate his desire for her. There's a growing heat spreading through him as his fantasy consumes his thoughts, and he loses all will to suppress them. He would feel guilty tomorrow, he would chastise and punish himself until he couldn't bear to catch his own reflection's eye. For now he was twisting fingers into hair, pressing his chest against hers and kissing her hungrily. 

 

The him inside his head, the version of him so much bolder than he would ever dare to be, backed her against the TARDIS console, breaking their kiss to pull the scratchy sweater up and over her head, discarding it on the floor beside them. Her hair is ruffled, her cheeks are flushed, he conjured her up the best the old magician can, but certainly he hasn't done her justice. His fingers make quick work of her blouse, and when he finds more layers underneath he pulls the blouse down her arms roughly, tossing it to join her jumper on the floor. 

 

"Doctor," his dream of her whispers, and he captures her lips again, he allowed the lust he'd been keeping under wraps for so long to bubble up inside and take over the way it never could outside his own head. The belt on her skirt is the next to go, then the minuscule garment itself, pooling around her feet. Her knickers were the same pale pink of her camisole, if a little peachier, and if he weren't so lost in the thought of her he'd congratulate himself on his own attention to detail. If this was all he could have, he insisted on having it as best he can. 

 

"Clara." He sounds far more certain than she, the breathy, false thought of her voice had still held the inclination of a question to it, as if still uncertain of his intention. As cold as he could be, how was she to know this wasn't simply another life or death situation? A vital sort of snog, and not the simple submission to primal forces that she thought him above, that he liked to pretend he was above. 

 

He couldn't pretend he could feel those primal forces swelling, however, couldn't hide the rise of desire and something else. He ground himself against her, his length hard against her stomach. She hitched herself up onto the console, and his hands make their way to explore the soft outside of her thighs, running zig zags down the skin and pulling away from her lips to watch her shudder. He's smiling now, and she's blinking at him, still caught in the shock of it all. 

 

The Doctor kicked the sheets off himself, the heat becoming unbearable beneath them. He'd given in to this urge the night he'd touched her in the library, for the first time in at least twenty years. It wasn't something you forgot, and twenty years was a blink of an eye to him now. He pushed his boxers down and sighed with relief when the cool air hit his skin. As the Clara in his head palmed him through his trousers he wrapped his hand around himself. Her nimble little fingers released the buttons on his fly and crept inside to stroke him through his boxers. His companion’s ministrations are featherlight, and he grabs a handful of her hair and growls his frustration at her, past words. When her fingernails start teasing at his waistband he bucks his hips up, and holds himself a little tighter. He doesn’t hear the slight click of the door, or the little intake of air as she steps back into the shadows, realising what she’s seen. She peeks around the door again, careful to be silent, knowing just how embarrassed he would be if he knew he’d been caught. If she was honest with herself, and she tried to be, it was more than a little of her own curiosity that caused her to take her time drinking it in this time. 

 

She’s admiring the muscle twitching in his set jaw when she sees the sheen of plastic: he’s wearing one of those sleep patches. Surely he won’t notice her with those drugs flowing through him, she dares to lean a little further into the room, to seek a better view of parts of him she’s not so familiar with. She’ll feel ashamed later, for now she’s watching him pump his hand up and down his length, biting her lip and feeling a familiar tingle begin in the pit of her stomach. She feels like a schoolgirl discovering these secret moments for the first time. Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s her stoic, unruffled Doctor grunting as he pushes his hips up off the mattress that has her so flustered, she simply didn’t expect this from him. All her strange, lusty dreams suddenly seem all the more possible, all the more tangible. Clara feels her heart start to pound so hard she hears the blood rushing in her ears, she doesn’t think simply watching anything has ever gotten her this excited in her life. Theres fire covering every inch of her, and an ache beginning between her thighs. She doesn’t remember moving it, but her hand is suddenly slipping under her nightshirt, teasing the skin around her hardening nipple. 

 

The Doctor was lost in his fantasy, in which he had tugged her camisole down to her waist and revealed her pert breasts. The skin was bliss under his hands, how had he managed to live without this for as long as he had? He tweaks the hard peak of her right nipple, making her gasp and push forwards into his touch. Her tiny hand has him feeling dizzy, and a little smug, as she works his hardness. If he doesn’t feel her soon he’ll lose his mind, his fingers run up the inside of her thighs, which she parts further, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer to her. The Doctor’s fingertips find the edge of her underwear, hooking under the edge and brushing over the sensitive skin there. The dream had taken on a life of its own, he could hear her shuddering breath clearly, he could smell her heat and her need. He retaliates to her earlier teasing by stroking her burning centre over the cotton of her panties. She pushes into his hand, but his touch remains a cruel ghost of satisfactory pressure that leaves her squirming. He dances around her most sensitive places, and meets her pleading gaze. She’s biting her lip, hard, holding back the words that are turning her red. He finds her clit beneath the fabric, skims his fingertip over the bundle of nerves so barely that she lets out a whimper, another stroke of his finger and she gasps his name, one more, and the dam breaks, 

 

“ _Please_ , touch me, come on, take them off.” He should’ve know there was a way to control the control freak, at least, in his dreams. He pulls her down from the console and spins her to face it, tugging her panties down her thighs and groaning at the sight of her pert backside. She’s swaying impatiently, so he decides to draw it out longer, stepping away from her completely. 

 

“Bend over.” He says, she shivers at his voice alone, desperation bends her at the waist, her hands wrap around handles on the console and she holds herself steady, breasts brushing against the cold metal of the control panel. He cups her sex in his palm, light enough just to drive her crazy, she moans at the sensation, arching her back and pushing herself into his hand. His palm is slick with her wetness when he pulls it away, and thats when he lets go of control completely. He positioned himself behind her, and when she feels him at her entrance she goes to look over her shoulder at him, 

 

“Look forward.” His tone is sharp, she obeys like she does when they’re in danger, when she knows he’s certain. His voice sends thrills through her, causes her to burn with anticipation everywhere that aches for his touch the most. His hands grip her hips as he presses himself into her gently at first, up until he hears her moan, and abandons his plan to take it slow all at once, pushing into her hard and fast enough to raise her onto her toes. 

 

“ ** _Clara._** ” He gasps, only this reaches through dream and into reality. The real Clara stops her own fingers from tracing teasing circles up her thighs, eyes growing wide, freezing where she stands: convinced he’s seen her. But when he doesn’t stop his own movements it dawns on her just why her name might be on her Doctor’s lips, and some strange new feeling makes her swoon. She watches him increase the speed of his pumping, gaze fixed on his movements. She presses her fingertips to her own wet heat through her underwear when she sees him throw his head back and groan out loud, she’s fascinated by his ending, heart pounding out of her chest as she watches him come. 

 

Clara watches him recover for a second, watches his breathing return to it's semi-normal state, before stepping out of the door way and sprinting back to her own room, throwing herself into her bed. She starts to giggle to herself, pressing her grin into her downy pillow even as she slides her hand into her knickers. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised we'd get to the smut eventually (in fact, I may change the rating...)! This was only a dreamy little snippet of things to come, but I hope you enjoyed! Leave me a review and let me know what you think? Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

There was tension lingering in the air and it was distracting him greatly. When he dropped her off in the little apartment she'd stopped at the TARDIS door as if she wanted to say something more than goodbye, but her dark eyes merely held his gaze for a moment before walking out the door. It isn't as hard to look her in the eye as it should have been, he's always been a good liar, always been able to put up a front. As he watched her leave he scolded himself for wondering how accurate his fantasizing of her body had been.

He stowed himself away in the library and told the TARDIS to just drift, it was dark and quiet there and he could lose himself in books until she wasn't all that was on his mind. Time Lords were better than this, he was better than this. Humans could spend their time tangled together in a mess of hormones and fear of facing the dark alone, he didn't have that luxury. Anything or anyone he let himself hold close was sure to burn right up.

* * *

 

She was clumsy in the classroom, she dropped every marker she picked up and three rolled beneath the cabinet, never to be seen again. The students were uncharacteristically kind about her dazed and distant behaviour. After Mr. Pink died they couldn't bring themselves to be quite so disruptive in Ms. Oswald's class.

She was consumed with thoughts of the Doctor, every time she went to jot another line of "A Midsummers Nights Dream" down on the board she'd get a flash of what she'd seen. Clara had almost told him, when he dropped her off at home that morning, that she'd invaded his privacy, but when she looked into his eyes she couldn't gage what his reaction would be. People got defensive when they were embarrassed, but the Doctor didn't get embarrassed often and he certainly didn't handle his emotions like anyone she'd ever met.

She couldn't deny that the time she'd spent with herself after catching him in the act was less shameful and more electrified. She'd buried her flushed face in her pillow when she came, and her thoughts had been only of him. Now she felt guilty, and it was blending with her desire for him and making her nauseous. Her last class of the day filed out the door, and she slipped her earbuds in and began marking the previous nights homework with her nearly-dead red pen.

Clara needed to break the ice, some how, with her nearest and dearest friend. It was a whole other level of intimacy, she wasn't sure they'd ever so much as mentioned sex to one another outside of sarcastic innuendo, and even then he blushed. She'd need to be subtle, ease him into some sort of saucy conversation. If she could get him talking, start the ball rolling, perhaps he'd quell her burning curiosity and tell her what he was thinking of when he said her name in that way that made her shiver to remember. She was less than half way through the grading when the whirring began to fill the room, and the papers lifted and scattered from her desk as if caught in a mini-hurricane. She stood as the time machine materialized in front of her desk, pulling her headphones out.

"Clara!" The Doctor cried, throwing the doors open and reaching his hand out to her. Her heart fluttered a little at the sight of him, and she was eager to leave the mundane behind her. She turned to grab her purse and coat from her chair, skipped around the desk, and allowed him to pull her through the TARDIS doors.

"You do realize we only saw one another this morning, for me, right?"

"Right, right, only been a day for me, I thought you might like to go do something fun." His speech is rushed and breathless, he's avoiding talking about why he's back so soon and she's sure he's not going to give it up easily. Usually he waited at least a couple of days before he turned up again, though once or twice he'd been wearing the exact same thing, and his hair had the same locks out of place; she wasn't completely convinced that he hadn't simply skipped a few days ahead and left five minutes between their meetings from his point of view.

He'd managed a single night alone on his TARDIS before rushing back to her side. Well, seven hours of squeezing his eyes shut, laying in the darkness, trying not to give in to anything she could make him feel. He didn't even need to enter the coordinates, the TARDIS was ready to return to her with the touch of a button and the spin of a dial as soon as he walked back into the console room.

"You look.. You've had a wash." He nodded at her, as the doors swung shut, and she frowned at him.

"You okay?"

"Fine, fine. How would you like to go visit one of the five temple planets of the Silver Void Plains?" He was scolding himself for speaking, for attempting his gruff version of a compliment. He couldn't cross that line, she deserved someone who could woo her, and make promises that could be kept. And he needed someone who wouldn't turn to dust under his hands.

"Doctor." Her coat and purse had been draped over the railing, she had a hand on her hip, her tone made it a command. He sighed, lowering his gaze from the monitor, leaning on the console and squeezing his eyes shut.

"I missed you." He turned to lock icy eyes onto hers.

"Oh." A shiver crept over her skin, she could see his shame in his gaze in admitting what she was sure he saw as a weakness. The Doctors eyes pierced into hers until she was sure he could see right into her mind, was watching her memory of the night before, in all it's lust-tinted glory. A blush rose in her face, and she broke their eye contact, darting them down to study the floor.

Like it never happened he was skipping around the console once again, so she plastered a grin on her face and tried to ignore the way her cheeks were burning.

"So.. These temple planets?"

"Oh, they're gorgeous! not really planets so much as asteroids with temples on them which were supposedly planets once. Actually, they were all on one planet once. I always meant to go see what happened... But, for now, les go see the view." He tapped the coordinates out on the keypad, trying desperately not to glance to his right, where he'd imagined her bent over the night before.

The TARDIS phased into the vortex, spinning through time. It was a particularly bumpy ride, and the teacher tottered on her high heels before falling into the Doctor, and the two of them toppled over, landing sprawled out on the mental floor. The TARDIS flashed the console lights innocently as the Doctor glared up at the ceiling and untangled his legs from Clara's.

"Sorry, sorry!" She was blushing, having landed on top of him, and the two tried their best not to catch one another's eye even as he pulled himself up, and offered his hand to her.

"Come and see!" He half sprinted his way over to the TARDIS door, knowing what was behind it would be more than enough to distract from the tension in the air. She followed eagerly, grinning with excitement. This was the best bit, after all, the sense of discovery, the wonderment, the knowledge that she was beyond lucky to be standing in the threshold of his magnificent vessel, with all of time and space laid out before her. When he swung the doors open her grin slipped away, her jaw dropped open and the sight of the temples before her took the chance to snatch her breath away. He watched her face glow with joy and remembered his own youth, before he knew too much.


	11. Chapter 11

"Oh! Oh...Doctor." Her voice was soft and breathless, eyes wider than he'd thought humanly possible as she drank in the sight of a spinning, indigo sun, held in a perpetual stasis by the blue tinted force field that surrounded it; orbiting the burning giant were five massive chunks of rock. On each of the asteroids sat what appeared to be a massive, sprawling, ruined city. The architecture must have been immense at some point, but now it was a crumbling memory. Every city seemed built around a particularly large, pillared building, which seemed better persevered than the rest of the surrounding structures. The Doctor stepped closer to his companion, and was overcome for a moment by a wave of her perfume, it harkened him back to another moment, long ago, in which he'd found a second of peace in the scent of late blooming peonies and decadent lilacs bursting into life.

She turned to smile at him, but when he opened his eyes they were immediately caught by the glow of torchlight flickering through the pillars of the temple of the second asteroid.

"Hmm..." The Time Lord frowned, narrowing his eyes at the dim light. He'd double checked that they'd landed on the correct date, and if his history was correct, and it always was, these temples should have been long since abandoned.

"What? What's wrong?" Her voice wasn't one of concern, rather, excitement. She'd seen that look in his eye, one that always preceded pounding hearts, screaming muscles, and battles of wits.

"Let's go have a look." He said, swinging the doors shut and heading back to the console panel, locking on to a discreet corner along the outskirts of the seemingly occupied temple. He nodded to Clara, who was closer to the handle, and she pulled it back with glee.

"They're meant to be empty, for the last thousand years at least, but it looks like someone is home."

"What sort of someone?"

"No idea." He grins at her, and she feels her heart jump against her ribs.

The TARDIS sounded her echoing signal to tell them they'd landed, and the two of them rushed to be the first out of the door.

 

* * *

 

 

"Shhh!" The Doctor warned, unnecessarily, putting his finger to his lips and pointing through the crack in the gigantic stone pillars. The temple floor is lit by great bowls of fire, hanging low from the cavernous ceilings. About fifty feet from them, within the temple, around two dozen robed figures paced the flickering light, their faces covered with shadows and what appeared to be bronze, plain masks. She peeked out from over his shoulder, gripping his hand, a feeling of unease was washing over her.

They crept along the side of the building, keeping to the shadows, following the figures within closer to the center of the temple. When Clara saw what they were all gathering around she dug her nails into his wrist and pointed, turning her angry gaze towards him.

The figures were circling around a stone altar which rose from the temple floor, covered with rich, crimson velvet, to which a human looking young woman lay tied by her wrists and ankles. She was trying feebly to flail her limbs at her encroaching captives, but her movements were slow and sluggish as if drugged. One of the robed people had taken up a lethal, curved dagger, standing over her head; another stood at her feet, a great leather bound grimoire in his hands.

"Don't worry, I know exactly how to handle this." The Doctor insisted, reaching into his front pocket and slipping his sonic sunglasses into place. He straightened his jacket, fixed a smirk into place, and stepped up onto the temple floor, stepping round the massive pillars and into full view of the masked men. Clara stuck close behind him, having to take two skips to match his strides.

"Well," he announced, loudly, "we are underdressed."

The dark eyeholes of every mask was fixed on the man who had just interrupted their ceremonial murder. Six of the men, who's robes were a dusky grey rather than the pitch black of their peers, pulled scimitars from the depth of the fabric of their robes, and stepped forwards, swords pulled back and ready to strike.

"Let's be civil," he scolds them, stepping past as if utterly unconcerned by the glinting of firelight on razor sharp metal.

"Now, I thought the Order of the Void was disbanded three hundred years ago by the Shadow Proclamation," said the Time Lord, raising an eyebrow and gazing into the eyeholes of the figure who wielded the dagger hovering over the bound young woman's chest. "So what are you doing here?"

The men with the swords got closer, surrounding the two of them with weapons drawn, ready to strike at their master's will.

"Who are you?" The voice echoed around the building, and seemed to shake the floor on which they stood. Clara clapped her hands over her ears, but when the voice repeated the question, more urgently, she realized the noise was coming from within her own head.

"Let me show you." The Doctor responded, and bore his gaze into the eyes of the mask, through the shadows of which Clara could see the glint of the eyes he met. After a moment of silence, the man lowered his dagger, stepped back from the altar, and bowed low to the Doctor. The other robed men followed suit. The sword holding guards vanished their weapons back into their robes, and stepped back, leaving Clara to breathe a sigh of relief.

"There will be no sacrifice with me in this temple." The Time Lord looked pointedly at the young woman, and two of the robed figures stepped forwards to loose the drowsy woman's bonds. They attempted to pick her up from the table like a rag doll, but Clara started forwards, batted their hands away furiously, and looped the woman's arms over her shoulders. She held the woman up easily, as she was waif like and slender, able to hold a little of her own weight. They allowed his all under the Doctor's watchful eyes, and when she had the woman standing Clara felt that terrible voice booming around her skull again.

"Follow, Master." Clara watched her Doctor flinch at the title, but they followed after the masked man and the carrier of the tome further into the vast labyrinth of the temple pillars. When they reached the steps down into the underground tunnels of the temple the Doctor lifted Clara's burden of the young woman, who was muttering in her stupor, by lifting her into his arms, bridal style, with ease that surprised Clara.

They descended a large flight of stone steps, down into torchlit tunnels. Clara was surprised to find rich carpet on the rough floor, and intricate tapestries decorating the walls. The man led them through a seeming warren of rooms and hallways, the rooms guarded by heavy wood doors, crudely conformed to the uneven stone entrances. Finally they swung a door open to reveal a strange sort of chamber. It was a lavish bedroom, and bath surrounded by slatted dividers, with a primitive, stone ceiling. Three magnificent four poster beds found homes along the vaguely round walls of the cave, and two fireplaces with flames merrily cracking in the pit seemed to be carved into the walls, their chimneys extending up through the rock above.

The Doctor lay the young woman down on one of the beds carefully, and turned back to the masked man.

"Leave us, we have traveled far and long, I will seek you in time and we will speak."

The man bowed low to the Time Lord, and he and his peers left the room backwards. Clara shivered at the way their seemingly empty eyes watched her until the door was shut behind them. She spun on her heel the moment they were gone, whispering as loudly as she can manage without being sure it'll travel through the thick door.

"Why are a bunch of girl murderers bowing to you and calling you master?!" She demanded of him, stomping her foot a little.

"Well, they didn't used to be girl murderers, not when I was involved, that was one of the reasons I got them disbanded, a lot of interest in the blood rituals of the Carrionites. But they really shouldn't be hanging around here performing them... They're highly developed telepathics, they communicate mostly through thought. Be careful, though, don't get caught up in any of their eyes."

"Is she okay?" Clara went to sit beside where the girl now appeared to be sleeping. "Who is she?" Her skin was such a deep and dark mahogany that the firelight hit it in such a way that she could have been illuminated by golden light from the inside out. Her hair was intricate; thick, dark braids piled about her head like a crown. Clara had never seen such a beautiful woman, and felt even more disgusted by the cult's attempted murder than she had before. This kind of beauty couldn't be something the universe managed to design every day.

"She's only been weakened, it'll wear off with a good sleep and plenty of water. She looks like a priestess of some kind, her amulet has some familiar symbols on it." He motioned to the heavy golden disk which sat on her sternum, it seemed to be sewn into her gown some how.

"Will they just let us take her somewhere safe when she's awake?" Clara asked, refusing to admit to herself that a part of her was hoping it wouldn't be that easy. Her alien furrowed his brow,

"Something is wrong. There's a lot they weren't showing me in their hive mind." He frowned at her for a moment, lost in thought.

"Oh!" He said, suddenly, patting his pockets until he found a purple, plastic wrapped toothbrush and holding it out to her. "Here you go, looks like we'll be staying the night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please consider leaving me a comment? Thanks!


	12. Chapter 12

She commanded him to turn his back, and stripped off to her shirt and knickers, a little excited to plunge into the downy looking heaven of the fancy bed. she folded her skirt neatly, leaving it on a chaise lounge at the end of her bed, and pushing her shoes beneath it. When he heard the swish of the sheets being pulled back, and then back over herself, he turned away from the wall.

He didn't so much as shed his jacket, and simply lay on top of the first bed fully dressed.

"Are we safe?" She asked, quietly, as he aimed the sonic glasses at the torches and lowered their glow until it was soft and dream like.

"I'll keep you safe." He said, without looking at her, as he tucked the glasses away in his pocket. She lay down against the plump pillows, staring at the vast shadows cutting across the jagged ceiling. She was feeling pretty exhausted herself, and this bed was like a cloud, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier until the dark took over.

* * *

 

They caught him in a rare moment of rest. He wasn't sleeping, exactly, but rather in a deep and peaceful meditation. The figures surrounded him, and held his mind fast and steady in the dark. He fought against them, catching a glimpse of what they were after, but the order's consciousness was quite a match for even such a trained Time Lord mind.

In the bed beside him, still fast asleep and blissfully unaware of his struggles or the danger she was in, Clara swung her bare legs out of the bed, and barely felt her feet hit the plush rug. She slept-walked to the door, which had been opened for her, as the Doctor found himself in a mental battle against a chanting ring of order members. In his state of prisoner he was not entirely powerless, he could reach into the minds of those who held him fast and see their interest in his young companion. Something about her essence being scattered through time. Something to do with the way they could use her echoes to reach their ritual purposes through the vortex. When he came across the image of his Clara spread eagle on that same stone altar, knife a second from piercing her chest, he sent a shockwave of psychic energy through the circle of chanters keeping him bound within himself. Their hold loosened, he felt them break ranks. The Doctor gained control over his limbs, but when he managed to open his heavy eyes he was aghast to find her bed already empty.

He ran to the door, which their captors had swung shut and locked tight behind her. He pounded on the sturdy wooden planks, but the two guards outside had no intention of unlocking it. His companion was wandering through a darkened warren of corridors beyond it, her arms held out before her and a gentle smile on her lips. Her eyes were still shut, she was guided from within by something calling to her.

She was somewhere far away, walking through an overgrown garden. The paths are cobblestone, but moss has overgrown most of them, and it tickles her bare feet a little. The hedges either side of her stretch high above, a pleasant leafy green in the dappled sunlight. The air smells like honeysuckle, and she approaching a gate in one of the hedges, which she now sees grows around a thick, old stone wall. She pushes at the smooth wood, surprised to find no latch, and no handle, just smooth wood. She pushes harder, to no avail, and finally decides to knock.

There's a shuffling from the other side, and a loud creak as it swings open. For a moment she's blinded by light, but as her eyes adjust she sees a small and enchanting courtyard. Strangely, the courtyard is empty, though there are three gates identical to the one she just walked through on each of the four overgrown walls. The gate shuts behind her, and when she turns she finds that there's no handle this side either. In the center of the courtyard is a large stone slab, over which a thick layer of moss has grown. It looks tempting, and she's already imagining how it will feel under her. Clara wastes no time in hitching herself up onto the mossy slab, and sighing at the way it gave under her hands. She lay on her back, staring up at a blue sky and the clouds that drifted through it.

* * *

 

Back through the tunnels and still stuck behind that heavy door the Doctor stood over the unconscious priestess, shaking her shoulders.

"Come on, wake up! Hello?" Her eyelids begin to flicker, and a groan escaped her. "There we go, come on, wakey wakey!"

All of a sudden her eyes snapped open, and she wasted no time when she realized her arms were free, she flipped them over and pinned him to the bed, lodging her forearm on his windpipe and pushing hard.

"Who are you?" The young woman hissed, as the Doctor flailed in surprise beneath her.

"Uh... Ock...uh!" He choked out,

"Huh?" She said, frowning, and he pointed at her arm on his throat with the hand she didn't have pinned,

"Ey... Ah...Ok!"

"Oh, right." She loosened her hold slightly, and he gasped in a great lungful of air. "Well?" She demanded.

"I'm the Doctor. My friend and I freed you from the Order of the Void. Moments before your certain death, might I add. Now they've got my friend, and I need your help to save her."

She narrowed her dark eyes at him, sizing him up. He had the face of a liar, but his words rang with truth. She had a vague impression of those eyes, and hands smaller and softer than his. She moved back from him, straightening up and immediately being struck with a wave of dizziness that almost made her collapse. The Time Lord sprang up from the mattress, ready to catch her, but she recovered quickly and took a step away from him, still suspicious.

"If I help you," she said as she scanned the room, "can you get us off this asteroid? Do you have transport?"

The Doctor grinned.


	13. Chapter 13

Clara's eyes fluttered open, there was a knocking at one of the gates, and a creak as it swung open. She sat up slowly, feeling strangely floaty, a little detached from herself.

"Oh," she smiled when she saw him, "it's only you." Her voice seemed to echo, she was sure the overgrown walls weren't that high when she'd drifted off. Her Doctor closed the gap between them in a way that made her dizzy to watch, she wasn't sure she'd seen him take a step, yet suddenly he was there.

Clara was surprised when he gently lay his hand on her shoulder, and pushed her back onto the soft moss.

"It's only me." He echoed, his voice strangely empty of its typical animation. When she met his eyes she found them steely and cold, as empty as his tone. Her Doctor slid his hand down her shoulder, and she found herself strangely calm when his nimble fingers began unbuttoning her shirt. With the same speed, yet strange apparent lack of movement he somehow removed and cast the garment aside without ever disturbing her position on the soft moss; it reminded her of the way people flickered about in dreams.

There wasn't a moment of shame as she arched her back to meet the temperate air, a sudden breath of cool air dancing across her chest, suddenly conscious of the way the lace of her bra brushed against her skin. She was aware enough of her lack of inhibition to find it unusual, but the sensation of his rough fingertips trailing along her collarbone had her distracted enough that she didn't think it worth worrying about. Clara reached her hands out to grasp at him, to grasp fistfuls of his velvet jacket and pull him onto her. His expression doesn't change, but he circles her wrists with a grasp like shackles and moves her hands down to her sides, where she finds the moss begins to grow up around them, she wriggles as the plant grows, tickling her skin and holding her still.

A little frustrated at her sudden immobility, she tried to push up to meet his touch as he stroked his fingers across her breasts. His hands feel cold through the lace, her nipples hardening and a shiver shooting down her body and lingering at the apex of her thighs.   
When he begins circling them with his fingertips the tingle of arousal becomes a burn, he pauses and watches her face when she gasps at the sensation, his expression unchanging. Clara is suddenly struck by the thought that she can't remember how she got there, just the clouds in the sky and the desire pulsing through her.

* * *

 

The Doctor ushers to the priestess, who darts across the torch-lit corridor and joins him in the shadows.

"We need to get past those two." The Doctor gestures to the two navy robed guards at the foot of the staircase, both armed with some kind of scythe, their faces hidden by featureless white masks.

"Do you possess a weapon? Your green light, can it hurt them?"

"No, it's more for opening doors than hurting people."

"Then let me."

He considers stopping her, but she steps out of the shadows and towards the guards before he's decided whether it'll get him to Clara quicker or not.

The two men rose their scythes and begin a synchronized march towards her, when suddenly both were stopped in their tracks. The Doctor was wondering what had caused them to stop and begin lowering their weapons in shaking hands when he felt it too: the air was filled by a shattering noise so loud and deafening that he slapped his hands over his ears, but found himself unable to shut it out even a fraction. The noise was coming from within his own head, red begins exploding behind his eyelids as he falls to his knees.

As soon as it had hit him, it stopped, the silence was eerie without the racket. For a moment he remained on the ground with his hands on his head, in shock. When he looked up he saw that the two guards lay in heaps, unmoving and limp. The dark priestess looked back at him, something deep and ancient gazing out of her eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

 

The Doctor sprang to his feet, sprinting past the priestess and calling over his shoulder as he took the steps three at a time,

"Come on!"

 

She was quick on his tail, their footsteps clattering on the stone even as they tried to keep them light. They dodged around the corner, heading for the pillars along the edge of the temple and taking cover behind them. In the center of the floor the robed men stood around their altar where the priestess had been bound hours before. They couldn't see past the dark velvet of their cloaks, their arms raised and circling their captive.

 

The Doctor clenched his teeth when he saw the curved blade of the dagger glinting in the hand of one of the men.

 

* * *

 

 

How he was causing her skin to burn like this she wasn't sure, his ministrations of her body continued down her chest, resting a cool palm on her stomach he began playing his fingers along the waistband of her underwear. Clara squirmed as much as she could on the strange bed of immobilizing moss, unsure whether in her lust she wished to encourage him, or in her uncertainty to move away from his hands. The entire affair maintained a sense of dream like calm, as if no consequences would come of it.

 

When he pushed his fingers under her waistband she was sure he was about to remove the clothing, but instead his fingertips found their way to the top of her legs, tracing swirling patterns across her skin, dipping down to stroke the increasingly sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her breath became ragged and heavy, and she met his unchanging eyes with her pleading ones.

 

"Doc-" she began, but his name caught in her throat, something held the sound just behind her lips. It escaped in a gasp when he hooked his fingers under the elastic at the apex of her thigh, a millimeter from where she craved them the most. She wanted to cry out, to beg him to relieve the heat with those cool hands. His fingertips crept further beneath the cloth, dipping between her folds and spreading the gathering wetness over her skin as her eyes rolled back in pleasure at his delicate touch.

 

* * *

 

 

"Can you do that thing again? The psychic resonance?"

 

"Your friend is not like you?"

 

"No."

 

"Then she would be killed. You only survived because you are something different than the Order."

 

The Doctor growled in frustration, kicking the base of the pillar and regretting it as the pain radiated through his foot. He was staring at the toe of his boot when an idea stuck him,

 

"What if I can channel it? Shape the blast?"

 

The priestess scoffed, raising her chin a little, "No man could endure such a thing, whatever you are."

 

"You'd be surprised, I'm the resilient type." He held his hands out to her, palms up, but still she hesitated, "trust me, for Clara, I can do it."

 

"So be it." The young woman said as they stepped out from behind the pillar, grasping his hands with an iron grip and staring intently into his eyes. For a moment her pitch dark irises turned a searing green, so bright he had to fight the urge to blink. And then the noise began, and he was sure he was truly, finally dead.

 

It rang through him until he had no concept of his body any longer, until he knew no sensation but the sound. He was being crushed by it, overwhelmed, he would never recover.

 

And then, through the din of the priestess's mind, he heard his name. Clara's thoughts were pulsing through the temple, amplified by the circle around her, a confused din of wordless cries and "Doctor", over and over. It was the target he needed, he followed her thoughts like a thread and dragged the sound with him, looping it around the circle of figures and pushing it away from their captive. There was resistance from the Order, he felt them pushing back against the channel of energy he created, sweeping them up in the sound. Through the deep emerald that had fogged his vision he saw the flashing of a blade as the knife wielding man lurched towards them, and watched as he fell forwards, the weapon clattering to thefloor.

 

The result of his channeling of the psychic energy was a sudden and violent explosion on the opposite side of the temple, one of the stone pillar's bases was suddenly curtained by a thick cloud of dust. He'd done well in circling the energy around the would be murderers, but he'd not given it anywhere to disperse to. It had looped round the Order, and exploded out of the channel he'd created for it, with a force so devastating that the great stone pillars had begun to wobble menacingly.

 

The Doctor sprinted through his pain as the sound still seemed to shake him to the bone, sidestepping the heaps of bodies tangled in velvet, and scooped a seemingly unconscious Clara up in his arms. The priestess shouted for him to move faster as the ceiling began to crumble, raining dust and chunks of stone down around them. The floor shook like an earthquake were rattling the whole asteroid, their footing unsteady.

 

"Jump!" The Doctor exclaimed as they reached the drop at the edge of the temple. It was only a five foot fall, but his legs buckled under Clara's weight. He took the heavy fall on his knees, barely managing to avoid dropping her before they hit the ground. He threw himself over her as the pillars behind them began to domino.

 

He clasped his hands over his head and listened to the great stone structure crumble just feet away. Shards of rock flew from the implosion and landed with a painful THWACK on his back.

 

When finally the destruction ceased and the ground was still the Doctor and the priestess rose their heads to survey the surrounding rubble.

 

Just ahead of them, no longer hidden by a pillar, stood his wonderful blue machine. The Time Lord grinned, relief lifting his sour mood tremendously.

 

"Come on," he said to the priestess, who had straightened up and was dusting off her gown, then coughing in the resulting dust cloud. He reached down to lift Clara up onto her feet; he was taking most of her weight and her eyes were still closed, but she at least tried to move her feet in a vaguely helpful way.

 

He clicked his fingers, and the Priestess marched ahead, unafraid, and he helped his companion through the threshold behind her. The Doctor sent a mental thank you to the TARDIS when she closed the door behind them, and he carried his companion to the bench beside the console.

 

"This machine," the priestess said, from just inside the doorway, her eyes wide but her tone calm, "is larger on it's inside."


End file.
